Borrowed Time
by Ariathel
Summary: Of all the things to have felled the younger Winchester brother, nobody ever suspected it would be cancer.  "You don't go through as much abuse as this body did and not come out a wreck."  Warnings: death, angst, Dean/Castiel, slight Sam/Gabriel


**Title**: Borrowed Time  
><strong>Author<strong>: Ariathel/ohmynostalgia (Livejournal)  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG-13 for language  
><strong>CharactersPairings**: Dean/Castiel, Sam/Gabriel (hinted)  
><strong>Spoilers<strong>: Gabriel.  
><strong>Warnings<strong>: Major character death, angst, I cried like a little girl writing the end, fyi.  
><strong>Words<strong>: 1700  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: If Supernatural were mine, it would be on HBO with plenty of gratuitous nudity.  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Of all the things to have felled the younger Winchester brother, nobody ever suspected it would be cancer. "You don't go through as much abuse as this body did and not come out a wreck."

* * *

><p>Of all the things to have felled the younger Winchester brother, nobody ever suspected it would be cancer. They had met the reaper so many times, always coming out on top; Gabriel was beginning to think that the two idiot men would never really kick the bucket.<p>

He sometimes checked up on them, and his younger brother. Castiel had adjusted to being human all too well, and sometimes Gabriel just watched, gaze hooded as the two moved through the house, with a _knowing_ of each other that sprang from love. Castiel would hand Dean the milk whenever he went for cookies, without asking. Dean brought his angel Tylenol and a cup of tea when he had a headache brewing, sometimes before Castiel himself knew it was coming on.

And Sam. He watched the two with a grin on his face, always so _happy_ to see his brother in love. The three shared their house. Castiel's last act, before his grace was gone entirely, to clear the brother's legal records, so they could settle without worrying about criminal retribution.

If their little cottage in the woods was just a bit creepy, drawings on the ceiling and salt under the rugs, that was their prerogative. Strangers never visited, just the way they liked.

Sam was diagnosed with the big "C" at 47. Gabriel had never wanted to heal a human quite so badly, but Sam just glared at him.

"Let it go."

Gabriel was angered at first. He had disappeared with a snap, reappearing in one of his homes, and had positively _leveled_ it in rage. How _dare_ the mortal throw his gift back into his face like it was nothing? He didn't just run around, healing the sick, he wasn't _Jesus_!

He sulked for a month, before reappearing in the casa Winchester, scaring Castiel out of his mind.

"You've lost your touch, brother," he said mildly.

"I can no longer feel you coming," Castiel countered. "Now I know how Dean felt whenever I would appear. It's annoying."

Gabriel laughed, long and hard. "Payback's a bitch, eh?"

The only response Castiel would allow him was an entirely too Winchester eye-roll.

"How is Sam?"

"They are very hopeful. It's still relatively early, and the doctors have every expectation for him to make a full recovery. Dean is bringing him back from the hospital now."

When they walked through the door, Gabriel felt his grace clench. He could _see_ the abomination, practically slithering its way through Sam's body. It was a vicious thing, and he couldn't tear his eyes from the sight beyond Sam's skin. If he slowed just enough, he could track the movements of the poison cells. The world crawled by, time slowed, as he watched.

And then it was over. He blinked, and it was gone, and Gabriel wondered if he was catching the Winchester madness, like the flu or something.

Dean and Castiel went into the kitchen, arguing over whether to make chocolate chip pancakes or blueberry, neither of which Sam would want, but didn't bother bringing it up.

"All you have to do is ask."

Gabriel thumbed through a magazine, though it was a pitiful way to feign indifference.

"You know I won't."

He slammed it down on the table. "Why not?" He made sure to keep his voice low enough to not attract the attention of the lovebirds in the kitchen. "It would take like two seconds. It would be as much grace as in my fucking _pinky_. I could snap you better, damnit."

Sam smiled. "Didn't know you cared about me that much, Gabriel." He laughed at Gabriel's bared teeth. "No, I know you could, and thank you. I…" His voice trailed off, glancing down at his knees. "I'm tired. I spent almost forty years hunting, on the road. I know this will kill me. You don't go through as much abuse as this body did and not come out a wreck. I'm not crazy enough to say I'm welcoming death, but I'm just ready. I know Dean deserves to live the rest of his life with Castiel, and I'm too afraid of being alone to leave them. This just kind of solves the problem on all fronts."

"You're a sick bastard," Gabriel countered. "I thought _I_ had issues. You sure that Lucifer didn't fry your fucking brains when he dicked around in your meat suit?"

Sam laughed, again, and Gabriel wanted to punch him. Full out, archangel strength, punch him through the couch until it split in two until Sam took it back.

"Maybe he did," he mused. "I don't know. Like I said, I'm tired Gabriel. I don't want to grow old. My death will hurt Dean, but I have to die. I'm okay with it being now."

Gabriel left. He threw himself into the Trickster, thoroughly enjoying dangling himself in front of hunters, watching their pitiful attempts to pin him down. None of them matched the glory of the Winchesters. They were a candle to the brothers' roaring blaze, and Gabriel bored of them almost before he had begun.

He haunted a cruise ship, for shits and giggles.

He created an island, filled it with beautiful women, and when startled scientists came to explore, he drove their planes in circles, never able to land.

He drank and drank and drank until he was drunk, then sobered himself up with a snap of his fingers because he was two seconds from being banned from the city of Las Vegas, again.

A year and a half later, and he _felt_ Castiel call out to him. He wanted to tell them to fuck off, go to hell, leave him be, but Sam still haunted his mind. And so he went back, finding himself in a clump of trees, staring at a tower of fire, and he knew that Sam Winchester was the heart of that flame.

* * *

><p>"Cas," Sam whispered hoarsely. It broke the man's heart to see Sam lying in the hospital bed, a shell of his former glory. "You know, right? About me… and…" Sam couldn't bring himself to say "hell". Castiel blinked away tears.<p>

"Yes, Sam. I tried to fix it-"

"That's okay, Cas. I know you'd have done whatever you could. Look… if I ever meant anything to you, _ever_, you have to promise me never to tell Dean."

A few tears spilled over as Castiel moved to hold Sam's hand.

"I cannot lie to him like that," he protested, blinking when Sam nearly crushed his hand in a surprising show of strength. Their eyes met, and Castiel saw the fierceness that had once made Sam such a good hunter.

"You _have_ to. If you don't, he'll spend the rest of his life trying to get me out. We're old men, he can't do this anymore. Let him have his peace."

"And you?"

"I can't say I'll be fine, because I know I won't. But I won't have Dean making another deal with a demon for me. I won't be the reason he loses the rest of his life."

Castiel just nodded. He had long since lost his angel status. Somewhere on the way in between the apocalypse and loving Dean and overstepping his orders, he fell, for good. It had been a slow transition, until he could no longer feel his wings, or hear the angels' choir. Dean made sure he never had reason to mourn the loss, instead filling the angel's life with touches and whiskey and music and love.

He always knew that Sam's soul was tainted. He didn't know if it was a combination of Azazel, Ruby, and Lucifer, or any one event, but the dark stain was etched into him like the Enochian still on his ribs.

"What will happen when Dean gets to heaven? Will he know?"

Castiel just shook his head.

"I don't know, Sam."

Sam just nodded, before letting his hand fall to the bedspread.

* * *

><p>Sam was given a hunter's funeral. Castiel held Dean's hand as the old man stared down at the burning corpse of his brother.<p>

"I'll see you soon, Sammy," he whispered.

Bobby slipped the hat back over his head, before following the path back up to his house. No man was meant to bury his son, and Castiel had wept for him. Dean squeezed Castiel's hand, before following in Bobby's footsteps. Castiel stayed, finally shedding his own tears over the ashes, secret and silent, unwilling to explain to Dean why he cried so hard for the dead man.

_Gabriel, if you want to say good-bye, this is your last chance._

Castiel felt his heart pound in his chest as the feeling of another angel's presence washed over him. He turned to look, and standing back in the trees, was the ageless Gabriel.

He waited, a heartbeat, then two, and his brother was standing at his side.

"Dean doesn't know?" the archangel asked. He stared, his face blank, into the flames. They flicked to the sky, rising higher than Castiel thought possible.

"No."

"Why not?"

"It was Sam's dying wish. I… I know I should tell him, but in the end, I love Dean too much." Castiel looked over, swallowing. "I always chose him, over everyone else, including Sam, and always will."

Gabriel just nodded the tiniest bit.

"Next time I run into Dad, I'll remember to thank him. Dean has someone who loves him more than heaven itself. Maybe Sam's life would have been different if they thought he was worth that, too."

Castiel felt his too human heart break, and knew it was true. The bitterness in Gabriel's voice was so tight, so raw; it felt like the Trickster was snarling with every syllable. He knew there were no words for the way he had betrayed Sam, and no amount of guilt could change the outcome.

The flames snapped, Castiel wiped his eyes dry, and trudged up to the house.

Gabriel stayed, stoking the fire with his grace, until there was nothing left to keep the flames fed. He briefly contemplated spreading it, setting the grove on fire, anything to match the hollowness he felt. A snap of his fingers later, and nothing was left in the clearing but a thin trail of smoke.


End file.
